


No Ticket, No Entry

by jambees221b



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambees221b/pseuds/jambees221b
Summary: Barsad is the only obstacle standing between John and The League's meet and greet. If the security guard does not let him through, Blake can't be held responsible for his actions.





	No Ticket, No Entry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youcantsaymylastname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcantsaymylastname/gifts).



> Youcantsaymylastname's prompt was _beaten, battered, but still deadly_.

That’s it. He’s had enough. This is the end. 

Consequences be damned, someone will die by John’s hands in the next few seconds. 

He takes a deep breath and swallows his homicidal tendencies. Let’s try once more. 

He opens his mouth, only to be interrupted by the security guard blocking the way. “Look. I don’t care if you are a groupie, the president or fucking God himself. You’re not getting through, kid,” the scruffy, unimpressive guy says in an jaded tone.

He could easily take him down. Hell, he brought two bigger guys to the floor not an hour ago. John quickly looks around, and decides against it. Too many witnesses.

He mutters through clenched teeth and waves a crumpled paper in front of the guard’s squinting eyes. “I have the fucking confirmation that I won the meet and greet with The League. I told you _three_ times already: I don’t have my ticket. I was robbed!”

“And I told you _three_ times already: no ticket, no entry. Now, kindly fuck off!”

John clenches his fists, the stinging pain on his right knuckles a sharp reminder of how he must look right now. He’d been attacked on his way to the venue and almost thought he’d get out of the altercation with the upper hand until a third guy appeared out of nowhere, knocking him out cold. 

He came to in an alley, his backpack and wallet gone, along with the much-needed ticket.They even took his coat and his beloved skate. All he had left was a badly printed email folded in his back pocket containing the details for the meet and greet with Talia, lead singer of The League, and a blossoming bruise, if the throbbing on his jaw was to be believed. He did not walk for 30 minutes out there in the Gotham winter without a coat on to be left outside, so close to his goal. He _has_ to get in.

A draft of cold air makes him shiver, as a towering man comes through another door further down the corridor. “Anything the matter, Barsad?” he asks, walking towards them, wrapped in a luxurious sheepskin coat John would give the world to be allowed to slide right under and warm the chill out of his bones. It also doesn’t help that the newcomer is absurdly gorgeous, in a rugged way. 

“Yeah, boss. Fanboy over here does not understand that no means no.”

Oh, great. The handsome, yet slightly frightening mountain is head of Security. Maybe he’ll be more reasonable than his scruffy-faced sidekick. He looks daggers at Barsad, then turns back to Head Security with a determined frown. 

“Look at me,” he says, gesturing down his body. “Do I look like a League fanboy?” His Batpunk hoodie, Blink 182 rubber bracelet, DC shoes and earring studs should be enough of a sign that he’s clearly not part of the death metal scene.

“It would be foolish to judge music taste solely based on appearances,” the hulking man answers. “What happened to your face, boy?”

“I was robbed on my way here. That’s why I don’t have my ticket. I swear I’m not a stalker. Can I get in?” 

The man lets out a huff of annoyance, then grabs John by the sleeve and pulls him inside, to Barsad’s great irritation. Now that John can see him up close, he is drawn to his serious face, with plump lips and a scar running diagonally across them, adding to the intimidating yet tantalizing look. 

“Follow me.” As if John had any other choice, since he hasn’t let go of his sleeve. John walks behind him obediently. The man moves like a panther, sex on legs. _Focus, John. Focus._

They finally stop in a small room, where John is instructed to sit on a couch. The man leans on the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his large chest. John swallows hard, trying not to look like a deer in headlights.

“So you’re not expressing fanatic behaviour towards Talia by planning a clandestine visit to her dressing room. Explain your insistence, then.” 

John sighs. He can see Barsad walking back and forth in front of the door, from the corner of his eyes. Fighting a blush, he admits “Well, first off, Talia’s a little too… feminine for my taste.” 

The League’s masked drummer is a wet dream come true, though, his traitorous mind reminds him. With his tight black shirt and muscles trying to rip through, he’s a marvel to watch performing. He might have jerked off a few times to drum solo videos, mesmerized by the raw power and complete focus on his instrument. Not that it would be any useful to admit it now. He blushes.

The security guard raises an eyebrow, silently urging him to keep going.

“I don’t know much about the band. I like the music and how theatrical they look on stage, with Talia singing surrounded by masked men, but I really don’t know them much. I won a ticket and meet and greet access through a radio contest but, as I told you, I got robbed on the way here.”

“Then why the earlier commotion if you do not admire their work?”

“I wanted to give the prize to a kid at the orphanage I grew out of, but the radio station insisted only an adult could win it. Adam is a huge fan and was devastated that I couldn’t just give him the ticket. I promised him I’d get his collector’s edition CD signed, but it was in the backpack they took from me. Now, not only do I have to go back to him without an autograph, but also without his most prized possession. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have to meet Talia, sir.”

The man pushes off the wall and walks to the sofa, gently cradling John’s jaw in his hand. “Your intentions are noble. You have a good heart and a strong spirit, albeit poor taste in music.”

John can’t tear his eyes away from the hint of a smile the other man is directing at him. “Good intentions are not going to make the cut, as far as Adam is concerned.”

“Leave it to me. The child won’t be left miserable. Now, what shall I do with you?” 

John’s eyes snap up in surprise, meeting the other man’s heated gaze, which travels down John’s body, lighting a fire wherever it lands. 

John stands up, needing to close the distance between them. The hand on his jaw slides to the back of his neck in a fluid motion, bringing their lips together.

John’s eyes flutter close as arousal takes control of his body. He parts the sheepskin coat, letting his hands roam over the muscular chest, the kiss becoming more heated by the second. Strong hands grab him by the thighs, lifting him up effortlessly, and John curses at the layer of clothes separating his erection from the other man’s hard abdominal muscles. An answering hardness presses against his ass, prompting him to grind back and forth, torn between chasing his own pleasure and hearing all the different sounds he can get out of the man.

It’s exactly what John needs, and it’s over all too soon. Barsad barges in, growling, “Oh for god sake, Bane! The show’s about to start!”

Bane puts him back on the floor, chuckling. “Sorry, Mr. --”

“Blake. John Blake.”

“Sorry, Mr. Blake. I’m needed elsewhere. I can’t let you in without a ticket, but if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me backstage, I’m sure we can accommodate you. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, today.”

John nods, still in a daze, and follows him along the underground maze, every tunnel looking the same until cheers get louder and louder, chanting for Talia and The League to take the stage. They finally end up right beside the stage, the area filled with people getting ready. 

Talia herself walks by, asking Bane where the hell he has been. Bane does not answer, but throws a knowing smile at John while removing his coat. 

John then watches, realization slowing dawning upon him as familiar arms finally come into view, grabbing drumsticks and a mask. 

Bane kisses him roughly, bringing forth a whole new surge of desire through his body. “Don’t wander off, John Blake. We have unfinished business, you and I.” Bane then puts on the mask and walks to his drumkit, leaving a speechless John behind.

The next hour and a half is pure torture. John barely notices when Barsad ends up next to him, nodding his approval at the situation, too focused on trying to get his raging hard-on under control. Bane playing live is a sight to behold, the camera only capturing a finite amount of the raw energy he exudes on the stage, punishing his drumkit with his passionate playing. John has to palm himself through his pants several times during the show, wishing he was alone to give in to his burning desire.

Both the intermission and the break before the encore are filled with frenzied kissing and groping, Bane’s sweaty body a prelude to what is bound to happen next between them. They both want more, and they know it. There’s no escaping where this evening is headed.

As the show comes to an end, Barsad covers John’s shoulders with Bane’s sheepskin coat and leads him outside, to what John assumes is Bane’s tour bus. Apparently, The League is big enough for Bane to have his own bus. Lucky bastard. 

John explores for a little while, then starts shivering anew, even with the added layer of Bane’s coat. His sweat soaked hoodie and t-shirt are to blame, and he gives them up, neatly folding them on a coffee table. He leaves the coat on the couch, heading to the washroom in the hopes of freshening up a little. Roaming through the drawers, he finds a half-used bottle of lube, alongside condoms. He’s been patient enough.

He heads back to the couch, removing his pants and boxers and wrapping himself back in the coat, enjoying the feel of the soft sheepskin lining on his bare torso. He’s too keyed up to draw it out, Bane’s smell surrounding him and the memory of strong arms hitting the drums mercilessly making him wonder what kind of lover he will be. He closes his eyes and loses himself to fantasy, imagining that his fingers belong to the drummer. He’s not going to last. Luckily, he has just started circling his entrance and drawing a finger in when Bane comes in, a huge bag of band merch in his hands.

“This is for Ad--” The bag falls to the floor, immediately forgotten. 

Bane’s growl is animalistic as he pounces onto John, lifting him up from the couch to settle him in his lap. Their mouths find each other as if no time has elapsed since they saw each other backstage.

John fumbles with Bane’s belt for a brief moment, before getting his hand swatted away. Bane efficiently opens his pants and shoves them down just enough to free his cock, then resumes exploring John’s naked body under Bane’s coat.

John whines as Bane kisses his way to John’s ear, nibbling on his earlobe as he growls, “I want you to ride me, John Blake. Can you do that for me?”

John moans louder, grinding down hard. 

“Please. Oh god, yes.” 

He catches Bane’s mouth, half-kissing, half-moaning, barely aware of Bane grabbing the discarded lube bottle and slicking both cock and hand. A tentative finger presses against his entrance, and Blake widens his legs wantonly, making the finger slip in effortlessly. 

“Yes,” John moans, arching his back to try and get Bane’s finger to go deeper. He gasps as it has the opposite effect. Bane takes his finger out, leaving him desperately empty. Before John has time to protest, two fingers are pressing in, causing him to moan even louder. The pressure is perfect, the slight burn exactly what he needs. He howls when Bane finally gets the hint and starts moving, his fingers ghosting over his prostate with each upstroke. 

He looks down at Bane, who’s breathing as heavily as John, still wearing his skin-tight t-shirt, now stained with John’s precome. What a gorgeous sight. He could easily come from this, fingers up his ass, looking down at Bane through hooded eyes, but that is not what he wants. Reluctantly, he guides Bane’s fingers out of his body, biting his lip to fight back a whimper at the loss. 

John presses against Bane’s chest until the larger man is fully reclined on the back of the sofa, then pins Bane’s wrists above his head. “Don’t move,” he whispers against swollen lips before straightening up to grab a condom and the discarded lube bottle. John takes a second to commit the moment to memory: Bane sprawled under him, strong torso on display through the stretched material, his leaking cock begging for attention. 

Using his teeth, John rips the foil packet apart and rolls the condom on, exhilarated to finally feel the hard, pulsing length in his hands. Bane’s quick breath intake and involuntary hip thrust at the contact makes John dizzy with desire. He needs to feel him quiver under him, thrust deep inside him. 

He wastes no time, efficiently slicking and guiding him in, bottoming out in a slow, earth-shattering motion. He’s too far gone to mind when strong hands get a hold of his hips, stilling him for a moment before encouraging him to start a slow rhythm, taking control of the speed as John gets more and more vocal, overwhelmed by sensations. It’s too much, yet not enough, the rough material of the shirt an unwanted barrier between them. 

Grabbing the hem of the shirt, he tries to take it off, but Bane just holds his hips tighter, refusing to let go, establishing an even more punishing rhythm in response. John doesn’t let go of the shirt, getting it over his head and behind his neck, baring the broad expense of his chest and finally getting his cock to touch skin. 

Bane growls at the contact. Without any warning, he picks them off the couch, flipping them over and slamming John on the hard bus floor, the coat softening the blow. John arches his back, supporting his whole body with his shoulders as he crosses his legs around Bane’s back and grinds his hips against taut muscles, while Bane finally lays a hand on John’s cock. The new position is his undoing. He tries to stave things off but Bane is relentless, hitting his prostate rhythmically and timing every stroke of his hand to match the pistoning of his hips. John’s whole body goes rigid as he comes, yelling Bane’s name.

The rhythm changes yet again, as Bane coaxes him out of his post-orgasmic haze with languorous kisses. Now laid flat on the floor, he lets Bane lift one of John’s legs over his shoulder, keeping a slow pace, thrusting deep in John, who can’t stop himself from clenching around Bane’s cock, his oversensitized body thrumming with Bane’s every move. 

John watches in wonder at the gorgeous sight of Bane chasing completion, glad his own orgasm left him clear-headed to witness every tell that it’s finally happening. Bane comes with a low moan, clenched eyes and open mouth making John’s mouth water at the prospect of a second round. 

They stay in each other’s arms on the ground for several minutes, their breathing slowly coming back to normal. John starts dozing off, then lets Bane carry him to a bed, letting sleep take over.

The following morning arrives too fast, as both of them are jolted from sleep by an impatient Barsad, reminding Bane that they have to leave town immediately to get to the band’s next gig. John is sent off with a deep kiss, an enormous band merch bag and a “Hope to see you soon”. He can’t help but feel a little ridiculous at the sense of loss that is hitting him hard in the gut. They have known each other for less than twelve hours. He’s a member of a famous band. This was nothing more than a fantasy come to life. 

John leaves the bag in a corner of the flat for a few days, trying to ignore his battered heart. His body is making things difficult, his skin a canvas, impossible to differentiate between the bruises from the mugging and those from their enthusiastic night together.

Adam’s phone calls become more and more insistent, and John finally drops by the orphanage, ready to leave all physical memories of the encounter behind. He plasters a smile on his face while Adam is overjoyed by the contents of the bag, getting extensive information about each item. 

“Is this paper yours, John?”

He grabs the yellow paper earnestly, his heart threatening to jump out his chest. A list of numbers. 02/03. 02/05. 02/13. The list goes on, but its meaning eludes John. It must have been left in the bag by accident. 

He tries not to let disappointment ruin his day while he walks back home. He unlocks the door and gets in the building, shaking off the snow from his shoulders, then stops suddenly at the sight of Barsad leaning against his apartment door.

“Where the hell have you been? We’re wasting precious time!”

“What?” The surprise takes over any eloquence John might have had.

“Didn’t you find my note? We’re in the area, now. Bane’s waiting for you on his bus.”

John has never packed a bag as quickly as he does now.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the fact that Avril Lavigne's debut album came out 15 years ago. Having Sk8ter Boi stuck in your head while writing a very serious post-occupation fic tends to be quite distracting. Youcant, there's a completely different WIP based on your prompt. One day, you'll get to read it!
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy Blake's outfit inspiration:  
> 
> 
> Also, [this is the reason](http://tweed-and-paisley.tumblr.com/post/145580787308/quick-scribblin-of-a-soon-to-be-well-loved-john) why John HAD to keep the coat on during sexy time. Thank you, incredible artist!!! Go visit their [blog](http://tweed-and-paisley.tumblr.com/), it's amazing!:
> 
> A huge thank you to [brookebond](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond) and [Oceaxe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe) for the help. The smut would have killed me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> As always, an enormous thank you to [kate_the_reader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader) for beta’ing until the very last hour before publishing, and also for the very helpful tips to finish the damn thing. <3


End file.
